Magnum Opus
by Sarcasticles
Summary: Follow Brook has he goes on his journey from young boy from the West Blue to Straw Hat musician. A series of connected one shots telling the story of everybody's favorite skeleton.
1. First Movement

Soundtrack: Pirates of the Caribbean, the entire thing spanning all the movies

* * *

Movement (music): A unit of a larger work that may stand by itself as a complete composition. Such divisions are usually self-contained. Most often the sequence of movements is arranged fast-slow-fast or in some other order that provides contrast.  
-Benward & Staker (2009), _Music in Theory and Practice: Vol. II_

* * *

Brook stood in front of a mirror trying to tame his unruly hair into some semblance of order. He was already dressed in his nice clothes, free of dirt stains or tears that normally ravaged his garments. Tonight was special, and he had to look _perfect_.

"Brook, it's time to go!" came his mother's shout from downstairs. Eagerly, Brook sat his comb down and rushed down to where his parents and brother were waiting. His father looked him up and down with a critical eye, before nodding in satisfaction. His mother took one look at his hair before frowning.

"Someone needs another haircut," she said. Brook just shrugged. It didn't really matter how often he got his hair cropped, it always came back as wild as ever, and he looked dumb with short hair. His brother had put it perfectly when he had compared his shaved head to a lumpy egg.

"Dear, he looks fine. We'll be late if we don't hurry," Father said as he looked at his watch. His mother gave a small sigh before patting his head half-heartedly, as if that would put his curls back in place.

"Alright then. Boys are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes Mother," they chorused, Brook with much more enthusiasm than his brother.

As a family they loaded themselves into a waiting carriage. Brook could hardly keep from wiggling in excitement; for tonight was the night he was going to see his first opera.

* * *

"_Master Day, this is boring. Why do I have to learn boring things?" Brook asked as he looked at the complicated mess of notes his fussy teacher was trying to get him to learn._

"_Piano lessons are not boring! Music is…music is humanity's attempt at pouring out their emotions. It is art and science, order and chaos, it…it is the expression of our very souls!" the short, fat man exclaimed from his chair as he dabbed his brow with a silk handkerchief. _

"_Then why is it boring? Who cares what clef that is, or what key this was, or chord progressions? It's dumb!"_

"_You are just saying that because it's _hard_. All things worth doing require work. You have a good ear, Mister Brook, but you are just starting to learn. If you keep at it, you will come to understand that music is the universal language," Master Day said dramatically._

"_I thought that was math," Brook muttered. _

"_I heard that! Grr, what am I to do with insolent boys who refuse to learn?" he growled._

"_Let me go outside and have fun?" Brook offered._

_Master Day huffed, before glaring at his young charge. With great effort he got up from his chair before walking towards the door. In a moment of panic, Brook jumped up to follow. Mother would be very disappointed in him if Master Day told her he had been bad! After all, his brother had to suffer through three years of lessons himself. To expand his horizons or something like that._

_But Master Day did not go to the big room where Mother and Father ran their business operations. Instead, he led Brook to the drawing room. There, he sat at the family's rarely used grand piano and opened it up._

_And then he played a song that Brook had never heard before. It was fast and exciting, moving up and down the piano with speed that the young boy would never have expected from his overweight teacher. Brook was unable to stop staring, captivated by the tune. In his head he imagined a grand battle, full of proud warriors and noble heroes._

_Just as suddenly as it started, the amazing song ended. After a dramatic final chord, Master Day shut the piano and pulled out his handkerchief. _

"_Well?" he asked as he wiped his forehead._

"_That was amazing! What was that? The only stuff I get to listen to is slow stuff that Mother plays," Brook exclaimed._

"_That was a piece that I adapted from an opera. Which, coincidently, I was only able to do due to my knowledge of music _theory_. The very subject you find to be such a bore."_

"_Huh, opera? Isn't that where fat old ladies scream at one another?"_

"_No! Opera is…story telling with music. It is a complex art; mixing dance, theatre, and musical talent."_

"_Isn't that where my parents go all the time, and they don't get back till real late?" Brook asked._

"_Really late. You should use better grammar than that, Mister Brook. And yes, your parents are patrons of the arts. In fact, the very opera I just played from is at the theatre hall now," he said with a touch of wistfulness. _

"_Really, can I go see then?"_

"_That, young man is something you must take up with your parents. Now enough of this, let's get back to our lesson!"_

"_Do I have to?"_

"_Yes! Chop, chop young man. We will continue until I am satisfied with your work."_

"_Aww."_

* * *

"I can't believe you wanted to see a stupid opera," Brook's brother muttered from the seat beside him.

"Shut up Sanford!" Brook hissed.

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into. Hours of stuff you can't even understand, stuck in uncomfortable clothes and rock hard chairs," he drawled, voice just low enough to be out of reach from their parents.

"You don't know anything. Look, we're way up high, and there's a whole orchestra and everything. Plus, it's about pirates. That's awesome, right?"

"As your much older, much wiser brother I feel obligated to tell you that you are wrong. This is about pirates that sing at one another while dressed up in funny costumes. It's awful, and I still can't believe you talked Mother and Father into letting you come."

"Boys, hush. It's about ready to start. Remember, we are representing our entire family and business while we are out. I expect you both on your best behaviors," Brook's mother said in her low _you had better listen to me_ voice that they knew that was best not trifled with.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Now here are your glasses," she said before handing the pair of them little binoculars.

"All the better to see you with," Sanford said in a funny voice as he glared at his brother through the lenses, causing Brook to giggle.

Before their mother could say anything else, the lights dimmed and the curtain lifted. The flutes began playing a soft, melodious tune before being added by the strings. The lead actress gracefully swept across the stage, singing in a language that Brook did not know. On one side Sanford settled into his chair with a final grumbled, and on the other Brook's parents were the picture of polite attention. Brook aped them, putting the little binoculars to his face for a better view.

The first part wasn't very interesting. The lady was joined by a man (who was probably her boyfriend or something, without knowing what they were saying it was impossible to tell) before they were dramatically pulled apart. But then a whole group of people came on and danced and did funny things, which in Brook's opinion was much better.

In his head, Brook made up dialogue that matched the music. To him, Lady Sings-Very-High was pining her lost love, peasant boy Mister Also-Sings-Very-High. Then an evil pirate captain kidnapped her for his nefarious plans, making Mister Also-Sings-Very-High go rescue her.

Brook was about ready join his brother in a nap, when the orchestra music started to swell. He recognized the tune as the one Master Day had played on the piano earlier. On stage a grand fight was breaking out between the pirates and the maybe-boyfriend. The two factions clashed with lots of fake looking fighting, and the maybe-boyfriend quickly knocked out the pirate captain's lackeys before turning on the man himself.

When Master Day had played the song it had been fast and exciting, but it had just been a piano. Now the strength of a full orchestra was behind the song, so even though the actors really did more singing at one another than sword fighting, it was awesome. The strings dueled against the brass instruments, with the timpani drums keeping pace and the woodwinds weaving itself through the piece. In the back round the backup singers were singing an ominous theme that made it all sound _dangerous_.

Then, at the point of the song where Master Day had abruptly stopped, the maybe-boyfriend got stabbed, right through the chest with the pirate captain's sword. Everything stopped as he got his last song before dying, and even though Brook didn't know what words the man was saying he understood their meaning.

After the climax the opera wrapped up quickly, with the lady able to go home only to never forget her first love. Brook was stunned, and when the curtains lowered and the lights came back on he almost forgot to stand up and clap with everyone else.

With a jolt Sanford woke up, quickly joining the applause. He caught the look on his brother's face, before grinning.

"I told you it was awful," he snickered.

Brook slowly shook his head, "You're wrong. It was beautiful," he whispered back to his older brother, who could only stare at him in shock. Beside him, his mother gave the boys a small smile before leading them out of the theatre.

That night, Brook went to sleep to the sound of opera music replaying itself over and over in his head.

* * *

"This is quite the change Mister Brook. Just last week you couldn't bear to even look at musical theory, and now you're attacking it with such fever. I'm proud of you," Master Day said warmly.

"I've decided that I want to be a musician," the boy replied, nose deep in his book.

"Oh, is that right now? And what have your parents said about this?" inquired his teacher.

"I haven't told them yet. Everyone in my family does business, and that's what I'm supposed to do when I get bigger. But if I get really, really good at music and can play perfectly, than they won't be able to stop me! It's a perfect plan," he replied, clearly thrilled at his own brilliance.

"I see," Master Day said. He, of course, had heard this before with other students. They quickly grew disinterested or frustrated enough that they eventually quit. But the older man considered it a success that he had sparked even the smallest of interest in his student.

"Hey Master Day, what's this word, magnum opus? It sounds funny."

"Ah, Mister Brook, that is a magnificent word. It means 'great work', and is a composer's best, most famous, greatest, most recognized work. Many strive years, if not decades, on it. Some never achieve it; others go insane trying to discover it. It is a powerful thing, and can define a life time's work in a single piece. The opera you saw, for example, was that composer's magnum opus," was Master Day's passionate reply.

Brook looked up from his book and at his teacher, "A life time's work. That sounds hard."

"My dear boy, it is. But some would say that it is more about the journey, rather than the end product. Who you are shapes what you do, and vice versa."

"That sounds complicated."

"Mister Brook, life is nothing if not complicated. Now back to the lesson, we were learning about the great composers of the pre-Industrial period…"

As Master Day babbled on about different people, Brook daydreamed about one day being a famous musician, whose magnum opus was famous throughout the four blues and the Grand Line.

He didn't care what his family said; he was going to be a musician. He wanted to be like that singer and inspire _feeling_ with just his voice, and play so well that he would put the people in the orchestra to shame without really trying hard.

He would find his magnum opus, no matter how long it took. Master Day said it was a journey, and fussy and prickly as the old man was he was generally right about such things. That meant that this, right now, was just the first movement of his journey, and Brook was determined to make it count.

* * *

AN: This will be a series of interconnecting one shots; telling Brook's story from boyhood to skeleton in (hopefully) chronological order. Each will be able to stand alone, but it's my hope that they'll build on one another. I've got this pretty well planned out, so updates should be semi regular.

Last but not least, this is dedicated to all those music lovers out there that know how to have fun with their craft. Music (in all its forms) should be awesome, not a drag. Rock on, musicians, rock on!


	2. Grave

Music Box: _Amazing Grace; It Is Well with My Soul; Nearer, My God, to Thee _(particularly ThePianoGuy's version), any other common funeral hymns

* * *

Grave: A tempo marking, meaning solemn and slow. Usually 20-40 beats per minute

* * *

"Sanford, while we are away you to be in charge of your brother. Make sure he keeps up with his math homework. Brook, listen to Sanford and do _try_ not to get into too much trouble while we're gone. This is a very important trip for us, and your father and I don't want to be worrying about you every two seconds."

"Yes Mother."

"Not that we won't worry about you anyways. Oh, how I wish you could go with us, but the Grand Line is no place for two boys," Brook's mother said as she gave her sons one last going over before her long awaited business venture. Although she hid it well, Brook could see the worry in her eyes, and heard the faintest strain in her voice when she spoke.

"Mother, I'm sixteen. I am perfectly capable of taking care of the household while you're gone," Sanford said stiffly. With a sad smile on her face, Brook watched his mother pull herself away.

"I know. You've grown so quickly! Soon you'll be the one telling me what to do," she replied with a strained laugh. An elderly servant came into the room and gave her a small bow.

"Madame, your carriage awaits," he announced.

"Thank you Douglas. Boys, remember what I've said. We'll call over the den-den mushi when we arrive, since the ship doesn't have any baby snails. Be good, I love you both," she said with a final hug and kiss to the forehead. Brook squirmed at his mother's treatment, while Sanford endured gamely.

She was at the door when Brook's father walked into the room. Brook had always been amazed by how tall his father was, and how every time he entered the room it would go all quiet as if everyone was waiting for his instruction before continuing. Now was no different, and the man eyed his sons, top hat in one hand and walking cane in the other.

He addressed Sanford first, "Sanford you are the head of the household while I am away, remember your responsibilities and behave accordingly," Sanford's already impeccable posture straightened further as he gave his father a sharp nod, "Brook, you are to listen to your brother and your betters. Dedicate yourself to all of your lessons, not just the ones you enjoy. Both of you; remember who you are and who you represent. We will be back in a couple months."

"Yes sir," both boys said in unison.

"Good," and has he turned to leave Brook could tell that, despite not showing any expression whatsoever, his eyes glowed with approval. Brook struggled not to squirm to much as his parents made their way out of the house. They had almost made it to the door before he lost control over his manners. The boy rushed and gave his parents a running hug from behind.

"I'm going to miss you," he whispered, trying not to cry. It wasn't like he was a baby or anything, but he couldn't be stoic like his brother and two months was a _long_ time. Who was going to help him with his math homework (Sanford certainly wasn't patient enough to), and who was going to listen when he learned a new song?

"I know son, I know," his father said gruffly as he returned the hug.

"Sir, Madame, you need to leave soon if you wish to reach your boat in good time," Douglas said as he looked at his pocket watch. Brook's mother shot the servant a glare, which he returned with a bow before exiting the room.

"Brook, what is Master Day teaching you?" she asked.

"Deval's 10th Prelude, in B minor," he replied with a sniff.

"When we get back, I want you to play it for us. So practice hard, okay?"

"Alright," Brook said sullenly.

"Good. We'll talk to you as soon as we can. Love you, and don't forget to practice for us!"

Brook watched as his parents pulled away and loaded themselves into the carriage, and continued to watch as they pulled out of the long driveway and out of sight. He was fighting back another sniffle when Sanford came by his side and put a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll be fine, Little Brother."

"Yeah, I'm…I'm gonna go practice my song. I want it to be perfect when they get back."

Sanford smiled down at him, "Oh, if only you put as much effort into your algebra as you did your piano and violin lessons."

"Music isn't boring like math is."

Sanford chuckled, before shooing his brother to the drawing room to play on the piano.

* * *

Brook was working on a particularly ratty middle section of his prelude. For some reason, he couldn't get the fingering quite right, and making the same mistakes over and over again was becoming very frustrating.

"No, no, no," he muttered to himself after failing to get through the passage cleanly for what seemed like the hundredth time. Brook glared at his music as he angrily grabbed his metronome and reset it to forty beats per minute. The slow _tick-tock _of the device calmed him down a little, and he took a deep breath.

"I am going to get through this, whether it is grave or allegro, I'm going to get it right."

"Talking to yourself Brook?" Sanford asked from the doorway. Brook jumped at the unexpected voice, before gathering his composure.

"Master Day says as long as myself doesn't talk back, I should be fine," he replied as he played through the troubling section with his right hand, pausing to make the occasional note on his sheet music.

"I'm sure Master Day is a grand, wise old fellow, but to be honest he never struck me as the type to understand much about psychology," Sanford drawled as he took a bite from an apple that he had brought in with him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a second one and offered it to his brother.

"Not at the piano, you know better than that. Remember that incident with the bubble gum?"

"Ah yes. At least it finally convinced Mother that I was hopeless, and I didn't have to take any more lessons. Anyway, when you're done do you want to go ride with me? The horses need exercise and it is a wonderful day outside," Sanford asked as he polished off his apple.

"Sure, I'm never going to learn this anyway."

"Don't say that. Maybe it's like your algebra; you have to attack it from a different angle to figure it out."

"But I need to learn it fast! Mother and Father are headed back soon, and I said that I'd play it perfect for them. Right now I'd settle for average," Brook exclaimed.

"You just need to take a step back and relax. Mom and Dad won't punish you if you don't get it right the first time; they know how hard you work on this stuff."

"Yeah, maybe you're right. Let me try one more time, and I'll go out with you."

Metronome still extremely slow, Brook started from the beginning. He made it through, and when he finished, Sanford applauded.

"See, that was good!"

"It's supposed to go three times faster," Brook scowled at no one in particular.

"It's a start. Now let's go outside! You remember the outside, don't you?"

Brook playfully punched his brother's shoulder, instigating a scuffle. Sanford had him in a head lock when a servant burst into the door, pale as a ghost.

"Come quickly, we've just heard news. You're parents…there's been a shipwreck!"

Sanford instantly let go of Brook, and the pair followed the servant as he rushed out of the room.

* * *

Brook sat in the front row of the church, in his finest clothes. On his right Sanford sat stiffly. They were surrounded by other members of the family, but Brook felt horribly alone.

"_I'm sorry…but there were no survivors."_

The words haunted him. It didn't seem real, they couldn't just be _gone_. But they were, and for some reason the only thing he could think of was that he would never get to play his song for them.

Brook glanced at his had dark circles etched deeply under his eyes, and was doing his best impression of their father at his most stoic. The building was nearly full; apparently his parents were much more liked than he ever thought.

An elderly man that Brook didn't recognize slowly made his way up to speak. Two empty caskets stood at the front of the church, the bodies lost at sea. The elderly man began talking, but Brook couldn't hear the words that were coming out of his mouth. His eyes were fixated on the two empty boxes that seemed to be mocking him.

_Gone_. They whispered at him, _gone and never coming back._

Brook wretched his attention back to the speaker. The man was finishing his eulogy (how long had he been staring at those caskets?) and Brook forced himself to listen.

"…Analese and Bernard Alvintzi are survived by their sons Brook and Sanford Alvintzi, Astra and Erwin Brohm, and Joanie and Jens Alvintzi. Now, if everyone would please rise, and open your hymnals to page 444, we will be singing all five verses," the man finished. Brook opened the book and stared down at the page, at a loss of what to do.

Since word of his parent's death, he hadn't been able to play at all. The spark that had been with him ever since he had gone to his first opera was gone. Even as the piano played the introduction and everyone else began the song, Brook couldn't bring himself to join in. It didn't seem right, somehow. Brook had always associated his music with his parents, and now they were gone…and a deep hole was all that was left.

But slowly the music began to swell and Brook felt something stir within him. The song was simple enough, traditional four part harmony; nothing special in any way, shape, or form. It was an old song, one of his mother's favorites.

And the congregation, all mourning, sang it beautifully.

_Music is the universal language._

Brook felt something break inside. Tears rolled down his face and he began to sob. Suddenly his legs weren't strong enough to hold him and he slumped back down into the pew. Through the tears he read the words as everyone else in the building sang.

He felt an arm on his shoulder, and looked up to see his brother grimly staring ahead quietly mouthing the words. He, too, had tears running down his face. Slowly Sanford rubbed his brother's back, comforting him the best way he knew how as the church was filled with all the grief, and pain, and hope of those inside it, all bound within that one song.

Once the building stopped ringing with the final chord, the bearers went to carry the caskets to a carriage where they would be driven to the family plot and laid to rest. Even if their bodies were forever gone, the spirits of the lost would eventually find their way back and be at peace.

Brook wondered what it was like for their spirits, to drift and drift until they found their final home.

* * *

Brook sat at the piano in the drawing room. After taking a deep breath, he delved into Deval's 10th Prelude. His fingers were quick and sure as they danced across the keyboard. Not a single wrong note was played.

A sense of satisfaction ran through him, and when he finished he looked up to see his brother in the doorway.

"I see you mastered it."

"Yeah."

"Aunt Joanie and Uncle Jens are moving in today. Are you ready?" Sanford asked.

"For the hundredth time, _yes_. My room's clean, I've got presentable clothes, and everything. Will you stop hounding me?" Brook asked, exasperated.

Hurt flashed across Sanford's face. Slowly he crossed the room and sat next to Brook on the piano bench.

"Things…things will be different now Brook. I just want you to understand that. I want you to be as ready as you can."

Brook sighed, "I know. I'm still trying to figure things out."

"Don't worry, we'll do it together."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, that's what brothers are for, right?" Sanford said as he slung his arm across Brook's shoulder. The pair sat together for a long time in silence.

Eventually they were called out for supper. As they left the room, they both knew that their lives were forever changed, but were grateful for the strength that they could find in one another.

* * *

AN: _It Is Well with My Soul_ was written after its author Horatio Spafford lost his home, business, and son in the Great Chicago Fire, and shortly later lost his three daughters in a shipwreck. _Amazing Grace_ was written by a former slave trader turned minister who converted to Christianity during a horrible storm at sea that he didn't think he would survive. _Nearer, My God, to Thee_ is famous for being the hymn chosen to be played by the orchestra members as the _Titanic _was sinking_. _Powerful stuff.

In a SBS Oda said Brook would be Austrian if he were to live in the real world, so when coming up with names for his family I googled Austrian names and went from there.

As always reviews make me a happy camper.


	3. Etude

Music Box: There are a bazillion etudes written for basically every instrument, but _Etude and Variation, Allegro _by Shinichi Suzuki was the first one I learned and as such is near and dear to my heart

* * *

Etude: An often times short, difficult piece designed to provide material for a particular technical skill

* * *

"You are such a girl."

"I am not!"

"I saw you playing the violin, and the piano, and the _flute_. You're bad at sports, you hum. Plus, your hair looks dumb. You are _such_ a girl."

Brook felt his cheeks flush as the other boys from his dormitory snickered. Alexandrian Nikoli Stephan Wilam III looked up at him and smirked. The shorter but stockier boy had his arms crossed across his chest _daring_ Brook to do something against his tormentor.

But Brook didn't. With his head held as high, he pushed through the ring of boys and went back to his room. Had anyone asked he would have said that the fight was beneath him, but the truth was he didn't want to get beat up again.

He had learned the first time that a black eye, while cool looking, hurt tremendously. The disappointed letter he had received from his brother had hurt even worse.

Once he reached his room, Brook locked the door and slumped to the floor, counting the hours till his break started.

* * *

"So, how was your term?" Sanford asked as he shuffled between two massive stacks of paperwork.

"I hate it," Brook responded flatly.

"Oh?"

"The subjects are dumb, the other kids are beasts, and I hate it. Please don't make me go back!"

Sanford cocked an eyebrow, still looking down at his papers, "It's not that bad. You'll learn useful skills and make good connections for later in life."

"But…" Brook began.

"No buts. Now, I've got a lot of work to do. Unless you want to help sort out some spread sheets…?" Sanford asked hopefully.

Brook left the room with a huff. Sanford just didn't understand. Private school was fine for everyone else in the family, but learning how to run a shipping business just wasn't _him_. Sanford, Uncle Jens, and…Father all enjoyed crunching numbers and logistics and _spread sheets_ (the thought made Brook shiver). He liked the piano and the violin and exploring.

The other boy's taunts fresh in his mind, Brook eschewed the drawing room. It wasn't like he could properly practice when he was upset. Master Day highly emphasized a clear mind when playing the piano (something about channeling the composers will through his fingertips), and the older man could always tell when Brook had broken one of his rules.

So the drawing room was out. Brook half-stomped outside to the courtyard. The beautiful day clashed with his foul mood. With no one out and about to complain to, he settled for glaring at a tree. This was extremely unsatisfying and made him feel rather silly. With a small sigh Brook moved on. The branches softly swayed back and forth in the breeze, waving him on as he continued his trek through the grounds.

* * *

_Crack! Whumph! Thump!_

Brook watched in morbid fascination as his uncle got thoroughly trounced in a mock fight with an unknown man. Well, trounced wasn't the best word. Uncle Jens was heavily padded, and both men were using practice swords.

The mysterious man his uncle was fighting was _very_ good. Even though Brook knew nothing about sword fighting, he could tell by the man's graceful movements and superior speed. Even now, after several prolonged rounds, he was barely breathing heavily while Uncle was drenched with sweat.

"Let's call it a day," the man said coolly.

"Alright," Brook's uncle gasped.

"You've improved, Jens. But watch your guard, it still needs work."

Uncle Jens nodded tiredly before making his way towards the showers. The man stayed behind, inspecting his equipment. Brook quietly stepped out from his watching place.

"Like what you saw, boy?" The man asked.

"Y-yeah! The way you danced around Uncle was amazing; he couldn't land a hit at all."

The man grunted. Now that he was closer, Brook could get a better look at him. The man was tall and skinny, not at all the build Brook expected out of an expert swordsman. On his shirt there was an insignia that Brook recognized from the security company that the family used to protect their goods as they were shipped across the kingdom.

"You still here, boy?" the man asked as he inspected his fake sword.

"My name's Brook. How long did it take for you to learn to fight like that?" he asked.

"A lifetime. Now go away. I've got a journey to prepare for," the man said bluntly.

Intimidated by the man's tone, Brook scampered off. It was probably about dinner time anyway.

* * *

"En garde! High ya! Take that you scoundrel, and that!" Brook shouted as he bashed his stick against the wooden practice post. Only now it wasn't just a random wooden post in the practice yard, it was Alexandrian Nikoli Stephan Wilam III. In his imaginary battle Brook was winning just as easily as the mystery man did against his uncle.

But alas, even in imaginary form Alexandrian was a formidable foe. In an attempt to perform a complex maneuver Brook tripped over his own feet and landed on the ground in an undignified heap.

To Brook's horror, a slow clap sounded from behind him. Brook whirled around, only to nearly fall over again. When he got his bearings he looked up to see the swordsman from the day before.

"What are you doing there?" he exclaimed, feeling the heat of embarrassment on his face.

"I could ask you the same thing, boy," the man drawled.

Brook glared at him, "I happen to _live _here. And I told you, my name is Brook."

"You live in the practice yard?" he asked in mock surprise, "Why, I should have known seeing how you masterfully wield that stick there."

Brook grasped the offending stick hard enough that his knuckles turned white. He briefly considered chucking it at the irritating man's head, but knowing his luck he figured he miss and embarrass himself further.

"You are only slightly more hopeless than your father. Although, you do share his enthusiasm. That must count for something, I suppose," the man continued as he examined his nails.

"You knew Father?" Brook asked; indigent.

"I've only headed his security for fifteen years. Of course I knew Bernard. Come here boy," he commanded.

After a moment of hesitation Brook walked up to the man. He deftly plucked the stick from his hand and held it in front of him.

"Pay attention boy, this is how you properly grasp a sword. You'd be disarmed in a second the way you were holding it."

"You knew Father?" Brook repeated.

"Yes, pay attention boy. Otherwise I'd inclined to believe you are as dumb as you look."

Anger flashed through Brook. There was only so much a person could take, and he would not be insulted by an _employee_.

"I am not _dumb_!" he shouted.

"Didn't say you were, boy, only that you looked the part. Now, when footing is very important or you'll end up on your ass more often than not. If you stand like this," he said, demonstrating his stance, "you'll have a balanced base to work with."

"What are you doing?" Brook asked.

"Teaching you how to fence, obviously. That is what you want, isn't it?"

"I don't even know your name," Brook pointed out.

"Hmm, you have a point there. Ahem, my name is Ichiro the Safeguard. I head the guards for your family's caravans that go throughout the land. Now, did you want to learn or not?"

Brook thought about it for a moment (he knew Master Day would have a _fit_), before the scornful faces of his classmates flashed in his mind. He gave a sharp nod to Ichiro.

"Alright then. Let's get started," he said. Then, using his stick to demonstrate, he showed Brook the barest basics of his craft.

* * *

"Again," Ichiro barked. Brook shook the sweat from his eyes and lifted his practice sword forced his sore arms through the motions again.

He was starting to hate that word. Between Ichiro and Master Day it seemed like _again_ was all he heard. But Brook still put forth his best effort in an attempt to learn the swordsman's craft.

"Stop," Ichiro finally commanded after he completed the drill. Brook tried to hide the relief from his features. He wondered if he could find a bucket of cold water to dunk his face in. Working with Ichiro was _work_, something he had never really had to do before. Brook shook the sweat out of his hair and sat on the ground with a thump.

"Boy, what do you fight for?" Ichiro asked. Brook looked up at him as if he had suddenly sprung a second head.

"What do you mean? I don't fight at all," he replied, bewildered.

"Bullshit. Everyone fights, whether it's for survival or power or anything else. What do you fight for?" Ichiro said forcefully.

Brook looked down, deep in thought, "My…my family I guess. I want Sanford to be proud of me, and for everyone to see that I'm just as good an Alvintzi as the rest of the family."

"So you fight for resignation?"

"No! I just want to prove that there's more to being an Alvintzi than our name. We're more than…than shipping, or business, or spread sheets," Brook exclaimed.

"Boy, there is nothing wrong with fighting for yourself. Everyone does it at one point or another."

Brook let Ichiro's words hang before staring at the ground.

"I…I got a C in math this term," he finally muttered. Ichiro looked puzzled by the sudden turn in conversation, but allowed him to continue, "Sanford always got really good grades in math, and apparently so did Uncle Jens. I know that there's more than just math to business, but I'm just not very good at it. The other boys at the school make fun of me, because I'm clumsy and enjoy music. And apparently my hair makes me look like a girl."

At that last bit Ichiro let out a quick bark of laughter. Brook blushed and continued to stare at the ground, before the swordsman put his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not laughing at you, I promise. Your other classmates must have a, uh, strange idea of what a woman's hair looks like. And as for you being clumsy, of course you are! I've never seen a boy go through a growth spurts like you; coordination will come later and my lessons will help. I don't know about the music thing, but why the hell should it matter? If it's something you enjoy, do it."

Brook thought about what Ichiro said for a moment, and at the practice sword in his hand.

"Anyways, we're done for the day. Think about it, that's what these lessons are for," Ichiro said before sending Brook back to the house to get cleaned up.

* * *

That night as he was getting ready for bed, Brook continued to ponder Ichiro's question. He caught a glance of himself as he passed the vanity, and paused. The face in the mirror looked back. Brook have never been one to excessively prune himself in front of his mirror, but his mentor's words made him stop and really look at himself

He was tall, likely to grow even taller than his father, but didn't resemble him much. The curly black hair that stood out so much had come from his grandfather, his eyes from his mother, and apparently his facial features greatly resembled one of his great-uncles.

But he was not his grandfather, or his mother, or his great-uncle. He was Brook Alvintzi. He did not want to run a shipping company. He did not want to be what anyone else thought he should be.

Maybe he was fighting for the right to be himself.

Brook didn't know how to fight for himself, but like everything else he supposed it took practice. Practice that would be harder than any of Ichiro's drills or any of Master Day's etudes.

Still looking at the mirror, Brook gave himself a big grin. The idea sounded like a good one, and he was always up for a challenge.

Finally Brook allowed his exhausted body to plop into bed. Tired as he was, he slept soundly without dreaming. He knew that tomorrow was a new day, and he resolved to make the most of it.

* * *

AN: Brook is 8'8''. I can assume that he went through some nasty growth spurts as a kid. (And did you know pre-time skip Brook was 88 years old. There just happen to be 88 keys on a piano…). And in his introduction Brook says he knows how to play every insturment, although I wonder if that's still possible now that he doesn't have lips. Skull joke!

Also, in case anyone was wondering, in chapter one Brook's 7 years old, chapter two he's 10, and he's roughly 13 in this one. I'd say that Sanford's 7 years older than him. I'm _so _bad at putting details like that in the chapters themselves.

Lastly, I'll be starting school here soon, so updates will probably slow down. I certainly have no plans of abandoning this fic, but grades come first.


End file.
